


Virtue Done Cheap

by Barkour



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: M/M, No Real Continuity, Shorts, TV Canon, Vaguely Canon Non-Compliant, vaguely canon compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-21
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-03 15:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6615346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Barkour/pseuds/Barkour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of brief Magnus/Alec fics. Magnus bubbles like champagne, Alec struggles with the shape of wanting, and neither of them has sure footing.</p><p>3: Magnus wakes alone. Alec makes breakfast. The cats witness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Not a Mother But a Friend

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags say. Not compliant with book canon. I'm free-wheelin', baby!

Magnus gave the drink shaker another go then uncapped it to strain. "I can't remember the last time I had so many shadowhunters over for drinks."

Sat beside the couch, her eyes made bruised from the day, Clary mustered a smile. Jace, his chest wound bound, shoulder reset, slept with a hand draped over her shoulder.

"Have you ever had shadowhunters over for drinks?" She'd her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms set atop her knees. Grime still marked her hair.

Magnus made a show of considering her question. He dumped the ice in the sink and rinsed out the shaker to load again with fresh portions.

"Mm. Well, never this many."

She laughed a little. "Scandalous." 

"I never kiss and tell, biscuit. Maybe not never. Never," Magnus mused, "is such a mundane concept. Imagine how boring life would be if you never did something."

Clary laid her head on top of her arm, stretched out before her. The curtain of her tangled orange hair fell across her face. Remarkable how much like Jocelyn. A peculiar thing to feel so debted to a child he'd no hand in making. She reached to clasp Jace's limp hand in her newly callused fingers.

Magnus busied his hands fixing another cocktail. He looked to the window as he did so. The city's skyline glimmered in the night, as enchanting as any fairy's beaded web. What beautiful things humans made of steel and stone and glass. 

Reflected hazily in the far window, Clary turned to stroke Jace's sweated but unlined brow. Magnus averted his eyes. He set the shaker on the counter again. A small movement caught his eye; he glanced at the window. A tall, lean shadow moved across the glass.

"Alec," said Clary.

The shadow bent over the couch. The dim lighting illuminated phantom colors in his black hair. 

"He's still sleeping?"

"Out like a light. But he's better."

Alec's reflection nodded. His head tipped. He looked to Jace, surely.

Magnus breathed out through his nose. He would turn. He would smile at them. They seemed a world apart, a play performed in the window. These were mortal lives with mortal hearts. His hand laid stilly upon the counter, the shaker cold metal against his little finger. He straightened; he turned.

"Alexander." He drew Alec's name out as he smiled. "Would you mind lending me a hand? Both hands, if you'd prefer."

Alec snorted, and Magnus made a moue. He held the pout even as Alec crossed the hardwood floor, his booted feet thumping on the slats. Once Alec had reached him, Magnus fluttered his eyelashes.

"Always so helpful around the house."

Alec raked a smile at him. His eyes were lidded not seductively but, dare Magnus think it, comfortably.

"Should we really be drinking?"

"If you're drinking, you aren't dead," Magnus philosophized. He handed two glasses to Alec. "The orange one's for you know who." 

Alec dutifully trudged back to Clary, who took the drink with a wan smile.

Magnus glanced around the loft. "Where's dear Isabelle fluttered off to?"

A once immaculately manicured hand rose from behind the couch. "Dear Isabelle would like her drink." The fight had left her with two chipped nails and a fetching battle damage themed lacquer.

Standing over her, Alec said, "You've already had a drink."

"I have not!"

Alec glanced over his shoulder. Magnus twiddled two fingers and mouthed the appropriate number. He took care to round his lips fetchingly. Alec's cheeks worked as he returned to Izzy.

"You had two," Alec said, "or you'd be sitting in a chair. Not on the floor."

"The cats are down here," said Izzy as he pulled her to her feet. "Why can't I sit with the cats? They're nicer to me than you."

"I'm your big brother, I'm not supposed to be nice."

She scowled as he led her across the floor to the thick-padded armchair.

"Don't cut your own tail off, Alexander," said Magnus. "We all know the truth."

Dryly Alec said, "That my sister's had too much already."

Magnus made a little scolding sound with his lips. "That you're just a fat, purring lap cat yourself," said Magnus. 

Izzy laughed and snagged the pale green cocktail from Alec's strained hand. "He's blushing!"

"Magnus, get her a drink of water."

Magnus picked up the last two cocktails, blue and dark red, red like blood. "The drinks may be on me, but the water won't come cheaply." He handed the blue drink to Alec, who looked at the mist stirring from it with his eyelashes crossing over his eyes. 

"Thank you," said Clary. She held her drink bell cupped between her hands, the stem forgotten. "You didn't have to do this." 

She meant more than the drinks. Magnus felt the weight of Alec's gaze on his nape. A little thrill in his belly. He wondered what the look might be on Alec's face. Here at the end of so many centuries, Magnus was afraid to turn and find Alec looking elsewhere.

Magnus cleared his throat. "Of course I did." He swirled his glass. Small sparks lit in the depths. "I'm not a monster. And," he said lightly, "I'd rather you drink in the house than get into trouble out there." The mood restored, he turned at last to Alec. "Isn't that what mothers say?"

Alec sniffed at his drink. His eyes flitted upward as he took a sip. His lips puckered. He made a charming show of disgust, but when he looked again at Magnus he took another, longer drink. Magnus swayed nearer to him. 

"Not our mother," Alec said when he'd finished.

"Well," said Magnus. He brushed his hand along Alec's arm, a deliberate warm stroke in passing. The joke, wicked, came to him in a flash. "Then you can just call me mommy."

Alec choked on his drink. Izzy fell over laughing.

Clary said, "I need another drink after this one," and Magnus said, "Tsk tsk, my babies, I'll have to call a cab," and he winked at Alec, who was sputtering still. "Or you could stay the night."

Alec held his glass to Izzy. "I'm done."

"Not by far," said Izzy. "Magnus, please talk some sense into my brother."

"Mm," said Magnus, "but on second thought, I don't want to be Alexander's mother."

"So that makes two of us," Alec muttered, retrieving his drink.

"Well, three's company," said Izzy, "so I'm going to go find Mouseling. Here, pussy, pussy."

Alec closed his eyes in pain. "Don't call it that."

"Mouseling is a pussy though," said Magnus. "But if you prefer something else..."

"Stop."

Clary, her own wear faded now to relief, as Jace slept peacefully behind her, gave up her empty glass to Magnus. 

"Thanks again."

"Stay the night," Magnus told her. "But I want you troublemakers out in the morning. You're going to ruin my couch."

Alec had recovered some. "Can't you just magic it clean?"

"Some things can never be cleaned. Not of certain fluids."

Izzy was laughing again. 

Alec, red-flushed, looked at Magnus over his near-emptied glass. His lips were parted and pink-made along the salted rim. The shy and curious weight of his eyes made Magnus' flesh tighten and twitch. Magnus took the glass from Alec. He was careful to make sure their fingers brushed. A little shudder made taut the expanse of Alec's shoulders.

"Let me get you something sweet," Magnus murmured, and Alec, his ears red beside his black, black hair, looked away and nodded. 

Magnus followed Alec's gaze. What did he expect? Jace, perhaps, whom Alec thought he loved. Alec looked at Izzy, teasing Mouseling with the sparkling fringe of her sleeve.

Twice Magnus clicked a nail against the glass and then he summoned a smile and said, "Breakfast will be at noon. I trust you all enjoy mimosas."

Alec's thick eyebrows arched. "Noon?"

Clary sighed and stretched her legs out happily before her. "Noon."

"Uh-oh," Izzy sang, "looks like Alexander has to sleep in."

"And if you don't wake me up at some ungodly hour like eleven," Magnus announced airily to the scandalized Alec, "I might even let you stay for lunch."

He handed Alec a drink. Alec accepted it.


	2. Sweater Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus questions Alec's sartorial choices.

Alec arrived at Magnus' flat a record three minutes early. That was, rather than twenty minutes late, he showed up an astonishing seventeen minutes late. Magnus hadn't finished painting his eyes and when the knock came at the door he threw the palette aside and snapped his little finger off his thumb to finish the job magically. Somewhere an Ulta attendant stared sidelong at a display piece missing its eyeshadow.

In the entryway, Alec was waggling his fingers furtively at Chairman Meow. The chairman had not yet decided upon a verdict re: a Lightwood suitor. Come to a sudden stop on the little steps, Magnus found his own verdict wavered.

"What," said Magnus, "is that?"

Alec looked around his shoulders, hunting narrow-eyed for some intruder. Impatiently Magnus clicked his fingers at him.

"That thing you're wearing."

Alec plucked at the knit loose across his chest. "It's a sweater."

"It's a travesty."

A frown befuddled Alec's thick, dark brow. "It's a sweater."

"But why?" Magnus held his palms out to Alec to beseech reason, explanation, justice. "Why is it a sweater?"

The scowling confusion spread to Alec's mouth. His cheek rumpled.

"Sweaters are comfortable."

"You've never worn a sweater before."

"Who fights wearing a sweater?" Alec scoffed. 

He looked with an unwarranted amusement down at Magnus, as though Magnus were a dewy youth naive to the ways of war rather than a four hundred year old warlock. The bottom of his gut fell out. Magnus thought he could hear his eyes popping. Every flash of confidence that showed on Alec made Magnus want to light the air on fire then eat him. Shamash! focus.

Magnus blinked rapidly, his lashes fluttering his vision. He mustered dignity. 

"There are no circumstances in which a sweater is appropriate."

"It's cold outside!"

"That is why we have coats, Alexander," Magnus informed him. He spread his hands again, in benediction to the formless, nameless, horrid things that worked unseen through the air. "That is why the gods gave us bespoke jackets. To fulfill our needs with works of beauty."

Alec's mouth rumpled like his cheek. He squinted an eye at Magnus. 

"You told me to add color to my closet."

Magnus gestured to the sweater. "Not this many colors."

Alec flattened his lips and huffed. His gaze flicked to the side. A muscle in his jaw fluttered, and Magnus was briefly distracted by the way the rune of deflection etched into Alec's throat flattered the strong tendons and the knotted apple. 

"Of course," Magnus tried, "I'm sure this sweater would look lovely on the Achaemenid rug." The Achaemenid rug led into his bedroom. The sweater would desecrate it.

Alec turned from him. His shoulders were hunched. "It's fine," he muttered, "I'll go change." He ruffled a hand through his tousled hair. "Um-- I don't know if they can hold the reservation."

"For me? Of course they will," said Magnus, but he was reflecting furiously on the last ten minutes. 

Chairman Meow hopped from the couch. Stretching his legs out before him, he crossed the floor to investigate Alec's boots. He trilled.

"But Chairman Meow loves your sweater," Magnus said hurriedly. He took five swift steps to stand beside Alec. "In fact, now that I look at it--"

Alec's neck was red. If Magnus knew Alexander's blushing, Alec was near to sweating.

"Don't worry, it's fine," said Alec. "I know I'm not... Good at dressing up."

Magnus had well and truly thrown the basilisk in with the hens. Magnificent as ever to screw up like so. He caught Alec by the garish, thick-knit sleeve and used the leverage it gave him to spin in front of Alec.

"Ignore me," said Magnus. He smiled prettily up the four inches that separated him and Alec. "Sometimes I forget how sharp my tongue is."

The breath beat in Alec's throat. Those dark, dark eyes of his stared hugely down at Magnus, who squeezed closer and tipped his chin up in no doubt glorious invitation.

Alec said, "I just thought," and bit his lip. He curled his hand around Magnus' arm. The strength restrained in his wrist cut like well-turned iron through Magnus' jacket sleeve, the sleeve of the buttoned shirt he wore underneath. 

Magnus, chin yet tilted, let his eyelashes fall severely. He toyed a finger in one of the many hideous, jagged stripes making up the sweater.

"I like the blue on you," he murmured. He twisted his finger to stroke the tip long and straightly to another stripe, low on Alec's belly. The nail snagged on it. Magnus raised his lashes again. "And this shade of rosewood... It makes your eyes pop."

Magnus popped his lips to accentuate it. A slow smile followed. He knew his lips must shine because he had enchanted them to do so. 

But Alec wasn't staring at Magnus' lips. He stared at his eyes. Magnus had said to throw the sweater on the bedroom floor as a joke. This was no longer a joke. It occurred to him it had never been a joke. 

"The reservation," said Alec, as if he had nearly forgotten. He blinked. Those over-thick black eyelashes masked his brown eyes. Magnus experienced a sensation akin to plummeting directly into the yawning mouth of a dragon.

Magnus swallowed. It was impossible that a mortal man, angelic heritage or not, should prove so magnetic. More than the one nail had caught in Alec's atrocious, surely thrifted sweater.

"Fuck the reservations," said Magnus. "I only wanted to see the face you'd make when you tried surströmming."

Alec frowned. "What--"

Magnus pulled him down by the sweater and kissed him. Alec had improved remarkably over the last three months. Rather than startling, as might a gazelle or perhaps a strangely shaped mouse, Alexander let fall his mouth and swallowed Magnus in his arms.

Alec kissed like this: consumptively. Ever vocal with his appreciations, Magnus moaned and sighed and licked at Alec's tongue to ask him more. Alec moved away then back again then away, tackling Magnus' mouth at ever new angles. Each departure beckoned Magnus follow. 

Fine glasses rattled. Alec had backed him against a table. Magnus flipped a hand uncaring at the rack of glasses, and they scattered to glittering pieces on the dark-painted floor. Chairman Meow protested. Magnus got his hands up the back of Alec's sweater to scrape at his flexing shoulder blades.

Alec's breath stuttered. 

"Why don't you get me up on this table," Magnus whispered to Alec's lips. He broke off a moment to lick at them, the pink swell of his lower lip, the delicate divot of the upper; to lick, and then he bit at Alec's lips.

Alec groaned and hitched his hips against Magnus'. His jeans were rough at odds with the thin and graceful linen of Magnus' trousers. Magnus thought it might be fun to ride Alexander with his jeans opened only at the crotch and the denim chafing at Magnus' thighs.

Magnus surged forward to grasp Alec's head in his hands and kiss him hotly. Alec, slouching, bent with his face turned up to Magnus. He made a noise like a whimper. Magnus felt crazed as a youth rutting in a dark corner.

"Get me up on this table, Alexander," Magnus said breathlessly, "then suck me off. And then I want you to fuck me."

Alec nodded. His throat worked; the apple bobbed viciously. He squared his shoulders. Serious, even in this, as if the work of making Magnus scream, as Magnus hoped to scream, were as solemn a duty as any Alexander Lightwood took.

"And," said Magnus, plucking at Alec's shoulder, "you can even leave the sweater on."

Alexander very nearly laughed at that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shamash: ancient Mesopotamian god associated with the sun, justice, and salvation.


	3. Early Birdie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Magnus wakes alone. Alec makes breakfast. The cats witness.

The sun picked its inexorable way across the bedsheets. Magnus rolled to his other side and reached for Alec. His arm plopped to the sheet beneath, and Magnus lifted his head. He squinted. 

The drapes hung about the bed were tied back. The rumpled indentations of Alec's hip and back were cool beneath Magnus' gliding palm. Magnus dropped his head to the pillows again. The pillow Alec had folded over his arm had a smell of him. Tip-tip, he beat his fingers in the remembered shape of Alec, held by the bed. 

From the doorway rose an inquisitive mew. The kitten Mouseling chirped a second time at Magnus then she fled, belled collar tinkling, down the morning shadowed hallway. Magnus conceded to the early hour and rose with dignity. 

The house robe swung heavily around his knees. He walked with ease to the sunlit common areas. Scent of vanilla, scent of cinnamon. In the kitchen Alec, bare-chested and bare-footed, stood with shoulders loose before a sizzling pan. He'd stacked irregularly shaped pancakes on a serving plate beside the stove.

Magnus paused at the threshold. As yet sleep clung to his naked face. He touched his cheek idly. The skin had creased from the pillow. The gold-threaded belt of his robe settled in the stillness.

The rune tattooed into the flesh of Alec's biceps pulled as he scraped the cooking cakes up and flipped them over, each of the three in turn. The messy black hair at his nape was pressed flat. He scratched at the back of his leg with the other foot, big toe arched.

Magnus rapped the doorframe with three knuckles. Alec turned, thick brow as dark as ever.

"Hey," he said.

"Good morning to you, too, Alexander."

He swanned into the kitchen to nestle up alongside Alec. Alec grunted. Magnus wound an arm about Alec's wide-made shoulders. His hand draped along the corner edge of Alec's collarbone.

"I have to turn these." Sleep hoarsened Alec's voice. 

"You didn't have to make me breakfast."

Alec looked sidelong at him. "Pretty conceited. You think I'm making this for you?" His lips tugged.

Magnus slipped along his back. In passing, he grabbed for Alec's ass, and Alec jumped and laughed. It crumpled the severe lines of his face into something sweeter, and the smile that lingered was sweeter still.

"Of course you are," Magnus said. He collected two glasses and mugs from the cupboard, two plates, knives and forks for the pair. "Because you like to spoil me."

"Coffee's in the pot."

"Tar, you mean."

Magnus carried the teetering stack of dishes to the table. The chairman held audience on the runner but Mouseling was more interested in the tassles on the cloth. He shooed them both.

"I don't know why you make it so thick," he called to Alec. "Is it a shadowhunter technique? What doesn't choke you makes you better at scowling?" He wandered back to the kitchen to fetch the orange juice from the refrigerator and the pot from its plate.

"You're not supposed to like coffee." Alec slid the finished pancakes, balanced between spatula and fingertips, onto the pile. "If it's not bitter, it's not strong."

Magnus rocked his head in mockery. "Oh, your extra strength heart. All the host forbid you enjoy something."

Alec brought the plate and another, covered, that smelled suspiciously of bacon and fried sausages.

"I enjoy..." He paused, looking as if enjoyed the play at deep thought. "Stuff."

"Oh, yes." Magnus shooed the chairman again, this time from his claimed chair. Alec took the chair opposite. "Your vaunted 'stuff.' Trimming arrows. Waxing your bow strings. Staring at everyone like you're counting how long until they stop talking. That face, right now."

His eyes had lidded. Alec looked at him. He worked his jaw left then right. A faint shrug.

"This is just my face."

Helpless, Magnus smiled. He knew it must crease his sleep-puffed face dreadfully.

"You, Alexander," he said, "are far too charming to be angelborn. There must be some wily serpent in your tree."

Alec concentrated on the coffee pot as he poured the awful stuff into his mug. When he'd done, he stretched across the table, thickly haired pectorals rippling, to snag Magnus' mug.

"You're the snake-charmer," he told Magnus.

"No need to say it like snake charming is devil work," said Magnus. Alec reached for the sugar bowl. "As I remember it you're very good at snake charming yourself."

Alec beetled. Magnus sighed.

"Blowjobs," he explained. "You know. Charming your snake. The snake is your penis."

Alec suddenly smiled. It brightened and gentled the whole of him. As ever this struck Magnus full in the chest like a very well-executed palm strike. He evaded commotio cordis. The slope of Alec's smile turned rakish.

"Oh, yeah," he said. "You're right. I am good at that."

Magnus slapped his palm to the table. The bengal cat, Thief, ran out from under the table with her tail an upright pole.

"Syrup!" said Magnus, standing. "And napkins!"

Alec grunted and stirred the sugar into Magnus' smoke dark coffee. The spoon tinked on the mug's sides. In the kitchen Magnus wondered why he'd run. 

"Butter too," Alec called.

Magnus gathered the napkins, the syrup and the butter, a knife for the latter and a new spoon for Alec. 

"Aren't you worried all these sweet things will dull your blade edge?"

Alec looked up at him as he returned from his errand. Alec was in the process of licking the used spoon. 

"Nope," he said. He dropped the spoon to his plate. 

"Disgusting," muttered Magnus. 

"Hm?"

"Drag me from bed at this ungodly hour--"

"It's almost ten," said Alec with the smug surety of a true gym aficionado. He popped the butter open and began slathering his selection of pancakes. 

"It's a disgrace," said Magnus, "and then you make breakfast--"

Alec was unflappable. He slid the tub of butter to Magnus, who paused to drink deeply of his sugar-sweetened coffee.

"Breakfast's the most important meal of the day," Alec said. "It keeps you alert."

"A solid eight hours of sleep keeps me alert," Magnus said.

"So don't go to sleep at five in the morning."

Magnus poured Alec a glass of orange juice. "Those are peak business hours. Thank you. My people walk the night in the forsaken hours--"

"You want the syrup?"

"Did you leave me any?"

Alec grunted again and shoved the jug at Magnus.

Magnus clucked his tongue on his teeth and eyed Alec. "And to top it all off, then you flirt with me. At the table! In the common room! When we could have had normal, healthy good morning sex in my comfortable, soft bed."

"That bed'll make you soft," said Alec.

He was exhausted. Magnus sprawled in his chair and flattened his hands on the table before him. If he'd put rings on before he went out sniffing for Alec he might even have struck a picture.

"You're a terror," said Magnus. "A shameless, daylight-grubbing maniac. I let you into my heart and this is how you repay me, with homemade breakfasts."

Alec folded a pancake in half then, with his fingers, butter melting and syrup dripping over his thumb and first finger, he stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. This should not have aroused Magnus. He was horrified to discover it did indeed arouse him. He wished he had a mimosa but he hadn't thought to fetch the champagne from the cabinet.

Sucking at his thumb and fingers in turn, Alec chewed and swallowed the bulk of the pancake in one go. The rune on his throat pulled. The black hair of his chest curled with particular morning vigor. He studied Magnus, who made a show of picking at the inside corner of an eye with his little finger. 

Under the table, a warm, bare, flat foot pressed down on the bare length of Magnus' calf, revealed by his parted robe. Alec, sucking again on the end of his thumb, looked with hooded eyes at Magnus. His toes arced. He slid his foot down the length of Magnus' shin. The callused foot pads rasped.

"A menace," said Magnus with feeling. His groin ached. The robe offered little coverage. 

Looking thoughtful, in that intense and surly way he had of looking anything, Alec said, "It's still morning. And your bed's still there..."

Magnus retrieved his glass only to discover he hadn't got around to pouring juice into it. He held the glass artfully anyway.

"The moment's gone, Alexander," he said. "I've taken a vow of chastity."

Alec's toes slipped down Magnus' foot. His own toes curled. He thought of how beautiful Alexander would look beneath him with his black hair sweated and tousled with the sheets, and his thick cock wedged deep inside Magnus' tight ass. Why had he forgot the champagne?

"So did I," said Alec lowly.

Magnus stared at him. Alec stuffed another pancake whole into his mouth. He withdrew his foot.

"I'm going to have you arrested," said Magnus, "and they'll put you on house arrest for a year and you'll have to be my prisoner."

"Okay," said Alec, who was after all a very virile and very sexually backlogged twenty-three year old man with the chest hair of an old growth forest. 

"I'll make you do chores," said Magnus, "naked. In an apron that says Kiss the Cook. And I'll take photos of you all day long and it will be very humiliating for you." 

"You'll have to tell my parents," said Alec.

Magnus stood again. His robe had rucked to the side, and he knew that much of his smooth, brown chest was on display. Alec's gaze immediately dropped to the exposed nipple. He paused with a pancake-laden hand in the air.

Magnus tipped his head and looked handsomely into the middle spaces of the loft. "I'm going to go get decent. Please put my breakfast in the refrigerator."

He walked head high down the hallway. As he proceeded, he undid the simple knot on his belt. A chair scraped across the floorboards. A clatter, then, and the muffled sound of a hurriedly wasted napkin.

Two cats looked up with interest at Magnus. He tossed his robe to the floor.

"You don't want to see this," he informed Thief and the chairman. 

They both scattered when Alec stormed into the room as dark as any thunder cloud. 

"Why, Alexander," said Magnus, hands on his hips, "how shocking. Going to bed at this hour?"

In typical fashion Alec frowned and said, "You didn't want to make love?"

"Oh, my god," said Magnus, "I am seriously going to contact the police. This is unwarranted terrorism," and grinning, his brown eyes creased as with laughter, Alec scooped Magnus in his arms and fell with him to the bed.


End file.
